Saturday, June 29, 2013

When
President Obama complains about the Flat Earth Society in America, he
needs to check his rear view mirror. His speeches address race and
sex. He refers to Edward Snowden as a "hacker." Obama is
the creation of the 1960s. His most famous words yearn for "Dreams
from My Father." Newsflash: This is the twenty-first century,
and Obama's strategies have not even begun to acknowledge the real
change in America's workforce.

First,
with every development of technology, communications workers have
upped their power ante. This group constitutes the "Communications
Workers of America (CWA) ... the largest communications and media
labor
union in
the United
States,"
according to Wikipedia. The
CWA, in turn, is "affiliated with the AFL-CIO,
the Canadian
Labour Congress,
and Union
Network International...and the worldwide membership of the AFL-CIO total[ed] 11,000,000, as of
2008." The CWA has its own connections, and those are not
limited to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in DC.

Second,
while Obama agonizes over race and sex, the following developments
have occurred:

"In
October 2003, 77 million persons used a computer at work, the Bureau
ofLabor
Statistics of the U.S. Department of Labor reported ....These workers accounted
for 55.5 percent of total employment. About 2 of every 5 employed individuals
connected to the Internet or used e-mail while on the job."

These
statistics cut across racial and gender lines. They practically
define "labor" now while the US President harps about the
birds, the bees, and skin.

Third,
we come to that elite group of high tech workers who, just like
Snowden and Obama—we hope—have security clearances. Even in 2011,
the Washington Post's research revealed that enough security
clearances had been issued to cover nearly the entire population of
Washington, DC. That report, described in "Checkpoint
Washington," admitted: "The official count is so much
greater than previous estimates that it caught security experts
off-guard."

Across
the board, this fall-out of the computer revolution seems to have
occurred without America's leaders recognizing its consequences.
Computer users should also now define the largest voting block in
this country, and they are ripe for some smart politicians' plucking.
Can America ever stop fighting the last war, and get onto current
challenges? Technology unites, threatens, and characterizes our
everyday life. The high tech wars have started, and America is right
in the middle of them. Where oh where is Obama?

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Fast
forward that initial experience with German to the next year, when I
studied Italian. Then, once again, I was lost without my GPS unit,
which hadn't even been invented yet. Once again, my Italian professor
outdid my linguistic knowledge, which is exactly the way it is
supposed to be for students. He smiled because he knew his
class was terrified to open their mouths and expose their ignorance.

This
time around, my experience was more devastating to my ego, if such a
calamity is possible—and it is. Now, with five years of Latin to my
credit, I kept speaking Italian with a Latin accent, as if I were singing in a church choir, instead of ordering an elegant meal
in Rome, where he took Italian majors, to test their mastery of the
spoken language. The Italian majors smiled; I wanted to cry.

Of
course, with a year of German under my achievement belt, my ego
thought it was prepared to be decimated, as I
struggled to announce my name, and utter, "Ciao!"--as if
six years of foreign language study rendered me a veteran of the
language wars. Instead, German had entered my subconscious with its
reverse word order. I thought in Latin, reversed in German, and
stuttered in Italian!

Somehow,
the music of Italian entranced me, nevertheless. I began to take
pride in developing the accent of Roman Italian. If I couldn't say
much, I could say it right nonetheless! I began to dream of visiting
the Sistine Chapel, of understanding what Michelangelo meant when he
said: "Those who love do not sleep." I researched his art, and discovered that he wrote
poetry, too!

By
the end of that second year of modern foreign language study, I had
not gotten German out of my head, but I had developed enough courage
to risk saying, "Buongiorno!"I
had even begun to imagine that my mind could indeed master more than
one or even two code systems. What I had not even begun to guess was
that I had laid the foundation for research across literature from
Dante back to Beowulf.

I
could even sit in an Italian opera without keeping my eyes glued to
the translation screens. I could enter into the drama of the music,
and experience the glory of Italian tenors, as if they were singing
right to me! When I saw Placido Domingo in person years later at the
Metropolitan Opera, I wanted to race right up to him and declare:
"Buona sera!" Where had my terror gone?

My
terror was gone with my assumption that the human mind is shackled to
one language like a woolly mammoth frozen in ice. My mind had begun to
dance! If my feet could cha-cha, rumba, and mambo, so my brain could
follow any routine that a language system laid out. It was true, as
one English professor said: "Newborns can speak all the
languages in the world!" And there I was with every dictionary
before me.

No
one in that German class was more confused than I was. After five
years of Latin, I thought in Latin. I translated English into Latin
and Latin into English with a confidence born of daily assignments
and weekly memorization of passages from Virgil, starting with 12
lines and working up to 24 lines. I was a linguistic ace; I knew my
Latin backwards and forwards, but I didn't know German worth spit.

When
the semester started, I was so lost that I couldn't have found my ego
with a GPS unit or the help of the NSA. I whined my way from my
dormitory to that German class, and started talking to myself.
Finally, I heard myself whining, and it actually sounded funny. There
I was at a first-rate college, and all I could do was complain.
Suddenly it dawned on me: Every language is a new code system.

Every
language required me to realize that I was a beginner, no matter how
smart or accomplished I was. Once my brain accepted that fact, I got
down to business. Out came my 3" by 5" cards, every single
one decorated with a word on the front, and a definition on the back.
Those cards went with me wherever I went: to the dining hall, the
shower, even into phone booths. German became my constant companion.

After
a single year of German, I knew that I wasn't an ace yet, but I had
absorbed the most important lesson I would ever learn as a student:
The pursuit of knowledge turns all of us into beginners. The pursuit
of truth is even more challenging. My German professor displayed rare
wit when she evaluated my German essay: "You grasp literature,
but your grammar is metaphysical," she said with a smile.

Truer
words were never spoken. I had tortured and twisted German grammar to
convey the meanings in a work of German literature which I could
discern but barely explain. That professor not only read my German
essay; she even read my mind. She knew I was a poet. She even
probably knew that I would write this tribute to the German lioness
who revealed to me the German base of the English language.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

My
favorite German professor was a terror. She came at a class like a
martial artist. We trembled in her classroom because we knew it was
her dojun—her gymnasium, her kingdom. She always located our points
of ignorance and struck intellectually like a hammer hand splitting a
block of concrete.

We
knew we were dumb as sticks, and that recognition was simply honest.
This professor had left us bereft of her wisdom for six weeks while
she buried her father in the Father Land. Until she returned, her
replacements suffered by comparison. They were "nice." They
were "pleasant." They were weak. We stayed dumb.

When
she returned, she had six more weeks to whip us into shape. She began
by forbidding us to speak any language except German in her hearing.
We stumbled over our "der's" and "du's," but
obeyed her orders because second semester followed first, and we
could not proceed to writing without grammar.

She
sounds ruthless and cruel, but her method worked. As she stalked back
and forth before the class, we waited for her to initiate
conversation with each one of us. One by one, we received her
individual attention in the form of a question in German requiring an
answer in German. If we failed to reply, she ridiculed us in German.

Can
you see us sitting there, decreasing our self-esteem, and ramming our
learning pedal to the floor? Can you see us passing our grammar tests
after just six weeks? Can you see us writing a 500 word essay—all
in German—the next semester? Then you can see what we learned: We
feared being ignorant, for it really, really hurt.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

American
rhetoric needs an upgrade in the Edward Snowden dilemma. The US
continues to argue that foreign countries should return this man to
his home country, like some runaway Huckleberry Finn. Too often, the
American media refers to him as a high school drop-out, even though
the best sources insist that Snowden completed his GED, took college
courses, and studied foreign languages.

Does
no one realize that attempts to downgrade Snowden's qualifications
reveal the most superficial understanding of the modern technical
workforce? This impression is reinforced by recommendations to have
employees watch each other in the future, and report abberant
behavior to superiors. All such suggestions underscore this fact:
technical workers know more about the US security system than POTUS.

Meanwhile,
the US insists that Snowden damaged US security, even while expecting
countries--which it also insists benefited from Snowden's release of
intelligence data--to return their accused benefactor to his home
base. Do we have this straight? His beneficiaries should act contrary
to their own interests, as described by the US government, and punish
him for—according to the US--benefiting them?

This
argument would not receive a passing grade in any competent freshman
English class. First, it is circular, which is a major rhetorical
fallacy, a flaw in logical thinking. Second, it violates the most
basic relationship between a speaker and his/her audience. Memo to
the DOS: Do NOT ask a foreign country to violate its own interests
without a reward or benefit. Do NOT ask Americans to ignore
ignorance.

So,
who is the audience of the US position on Edward Snowden? The most
obvious answer appears to be the media—if it chooses to repeat
claims without questions. If journalists do ask thoughtful questions, will
they end up like James Rosen, the Fox News Washington Correspondent
harassed by the DOJ? Mindless repetition would be the safe choice, wouldn't it? So,
is the poor quality of journalism here the result of fear?

Monday, June 24, 2013

The
finest neurologist I ever met didn't major in Biology as an
undergraduate. Why? I wondered. "Because healing depends on
communication," he explained. "I can't treat patients
successfully unless I know where they hurt—and why. My skill as a
physician depends on my communication skills exceeding theirs,
whoever they are, and I don't get to pick and choose who walks into
my office. It might be a clerk, an engineer, or a writer."

As
a writer, I didn't expect this tribute to my field coming from a
scientist, but he assured me that he'd never regretted his academic
foundation. In fact, he'd just sent his child off to Northern Ireland
to study English there, too. She'd gone to study literature, and
found a man on every street corner with a rifle. That's where
language study leads: to every corner of culture, and, by traveling
through language, she knew what to expect.

Since
I am a writer, this physician had his hands full with me. Doctors
have misdiagnosed me as a patient so many times that I introduce
myself pointedly: "Hello, Doctor, I'm Doctor Curtis. I do
appendices, instead of appendixes. How are you?" While the
physician diagnoses me, I'm diagnosing him, too. If s/he laughs at my
joke, I know the condition of his sense of humor, as well as his
vocabulary and his susceptibility to defensive states of mind.

This
one knew just what to say: "Oh, you're a doctor of English! How
lucky! Then, I don't have to explain my treatment plans at great
length. You're accustomed to looking for clues, and grasping quickly
how significant the smallest details can be." We chatted along
comfortably as he tested my hands for carpal tunnel syndrome. He
stuck pins in my skin, but I barely noticed because he successfully
distracted me with areodite references to poetry and drama.

He
proved a quick learner, and didn't argue when I raised a point
because he knew automatically that I'd argue right back: that's my
training. He was the perfect doctor for me, and had come highly
recommended by a co-worker whose grandfather was a PhD, too. The
result was we agreed: surgery was the last remedy. If physical
therapy proved successful, I would be on the road to recovery within
weeks. It did. He is the reason I have my hands back today with no
scars from his treatment.

So,
he proved the essential lesson that every physician must learn first:
Do no harm. He also impressed me with the wisdom of his practice. He
chose to talk first, and knife a patient later—and only when
necessary. He didn't knife me in either the front or back. He
escorted me out of his office, and onto the life I wouldn't have
discovered without him. This is what can happen when science and art
collaborate. Maybe he was A Midsummer-Night's Dream.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

An
advertisement on TNT for Lyrica diabetic nerve pain medication proves
how artful commercials can be. How did its creators time this
masterpiece to coincide with the NERVE PAIN experienced by the US
government? Edward Snowden had the nerve to report unlimited snooping
by the NSA on both American friends and competitors for respect and
power in the international arena. Immediately, the US experienced the
pain described in the advertisement.

In
this brief drama, a middle-aged woman announces her suffering with
just the right pause before the critical phrase: "diabetic nerve
pain." She is a familiar figure, who might be viewers' relative
or neighbor. With her chubby cheeks and white sneakers, she implicity
asks for our sympathy and reports the relief she experiences by
taking Lyrica, as advised by her wonderful doctor. She pauses
emphatically every time she speaks those lyrical words: "diabetic
nerve pain."

Yes,
the US government appears to have a problem adusting its sugar level,
too. Does this suffering drive its leaders into a coma, where they
claim they can't remember what they did or when they did it? Will
their suffering be alleviated by dragging some Clinton or another out
to claim: "What does it matter?" or "I feel your
pain"? Dump all the sugar you want on the Edward Snowden
catastrophe, and America still has one awful headache.

The
worse part is that, simultaneously, viewers can't wait for the next
dump of sugar into the media, claiming US intentions were only for
the safety of their citizens when they intruded on every kingdom in
the world—and US citizens find themselves experiencing new stress,
for which Lyrica is the wrong medication. Will Obamacare provide the
solution for this deeply internal conflict? Do its adminstrative
categories include "Headache" and "Sugar, Sugar"?

That
R and B classic might inspire exercise, like practice walking to the
ballot box with too much on our minds. The happy woman in the
advertisement describes the symptom we should watch for: "the
buzzing of bees" in the feet. Unfortunately, she's not the only
one to suffer initially from some disaster or other during the
current siege of scandals in the US. Too many bees are still turning
up dead. Song-and-dance routines didn't help them either, but
exercise remains free and cheap.

Why
does the US bother pursuing Edward Snowden? Do American officials
really expect any country besides the UK to turn him over for
providing proof of their nightmares? He's even causing paranoia in
the states for verifying that it isn't enough for the IRS to grab all
US citizens' medical data under Obamacare. Now, the NSA won't be
satisfied unless it has access to all our communications, too.

Is
it clear at last why the US Congress gets absolutely nothing done?
Maybe they just can't wait to consult with security agents about our
calling patterns? Were we calling democrats or republicans? Did we
buy products from democrats or republicans? Did our children ever
contact Tea Party members to complain about Mom and Dad's
nonconformist ideas? Worse yet, did we ever invite Tea Party members
over for Tea and Sympathy?

If
you could catch Edward right now for raising these concerns to public
attention, would you incarcerate him forever? Well, consider China's
and Russia's dilemma. Are they likely to turn Edward in either for
revealing that while Obama sat there with heads of state, expecting
them to apologize for intruding upon US security, all along his
administration had the drop on all of them? And maybe the UK would
like to explain why it's so hot to catch the boy, too?

In
the current environment of Snooping and Subterfuge, the only reason that
comes to mind for the UK's enthusiasm for this game of Catch and
Carry is that they must have more to lose than gain, too, from
exposure. Do we wish that this embarrassment had never happened? From
the point of view of respect for the US, sure. But what is left of
respect when the only thing that American citizens can do without
government intrusion is to confess: I swear, I had nothing to do with
this.

If
they make this confession on Facebook, of course it will be recorded,
for future reference. If they make this confession in an email, will
The Watchers feel obliged to report that somebody's showing
unpatriotic leanings? How do we serve a government that's more
concerned with our business than its own? And how does any country
ally with the US when the US insists on knowing more about it than
its own government does? It's hard being friends with anyone who
doesn't trust YOU.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Now,
my experience of the American Fantasia will never be the same. Is it
a plane? It cannot be Superman; he doesn't wear white, and he was a
comic book character. No photos of whiteflies or mayflies match this
image, which I captured with my cell phone camera in Dunkirk, New
York, in early June. The creature was tiny; I had to be almost on top
of it to record its presence on a window pane.

My
mind was swarming with buttercups and dandelions. Indian paint brush
and mushroom fairy circles were sprouting in every lawn. Red-winged
blackbirds were jousting with crows for real estate rights. Fat
chick-a-dees were hustling me for food with loud songs carrying
throughout my residence. The avian version of Planned Parenthood was
extremely busy. Housing and Biology consumed Nature.

As
if that announcement were not sufficient to make me wonder what I was
seeing, "The FBI
has
admitted it sometimes uses aerial surveillance drones
over
US soil, and suggested further political debate and legislation to
govern their domestic use may be necessary," as reported by the
UK Guardian at http://www.guardian.
co.uk/world/2013/jun/19/fbi-drones-domestic-surveillance. Well,
one way or another, some white-winged creature is observing humans
inside their dwellings, and nobody that I know gave permission for it
to sit on windows here.

Paranoia
may seem funny until it's you and an unidentified flying object
perching where it has no warrant to be. Once upon a time—yesterday,
maybe!--dragonflies
were clearly not after me. The flapping bread-and-butterflies of Disney's
version of Alice
in Wonderland
were looking for flowers, not Alice, and Alice was not suspected of
Un-American activities. Wasn't she a British citizen, after all?
Uh-Oh! The UK has not escaped US surveillance, either, if Edward
Snowden is to be believed.

Now, do you know if that famous
rabbit-hole is bugged? You can't shrink a white rabbit to the size of a mayfly, can you? Is this the American Dream now—a cartoon with
creatures who once knew where they belonged?

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Three Green Ones, Red Herrings, and
Fascist Rhetoric ((0) (0))*

by Meg Curtis, PhD

In undergraduate student government
meetings, the future club women of America always loved to play their
jokes. To control discussions, they always yelled: "Three green
ones!" This strategy served as a prank, and those attending
broke out laughing. "Three green ones" served as the
classic demonstration of the red herring fallacy, defined as follows
to this day in Wikipedia:

"Red
herring–
argument
given in response to another argument, which is irrelevant and draws
attention away from the subject of argument"

Now, on the
national stage, we see this strategy playing out every day. While the
US budget, deficit, and jobs demand solutions, politicians keep
harping on a single subject, known to trigger lock-step reactions,
even though 2013 is not 1963, and the nation has gone from laughing
to growing frustration because "three green ones"--no
matter the trigger word—distract citizens from TCB.

The original prank
caused laughter since it provided a sure test of who had mastered
English Composition and who had not. The A caliber students hooted
at the hoodwinkers who tried to control discussion with
irrelevancies. Their purpose was just to interrupt, if they could,
and drive the D students, who never recognized what was happening,
out of their blinking minds.

This strategy,
requiring recognition of rhetorical errors, becomes a game of tag
when the population takes the study of English seriously. When they
don't, absolutely nothing is accomplished in government or anywhere
else. So, we are left to inquire: Why are politicians harping on
computers and body parts when the national debate proves that English
Studies are critical to democracy?

The latest prank of
this kind occurred on June 18 when an Assistant Professor of English
and Africana Studies at the University of Pennsylvania threw
"whiteness" into the fray. Deficits accumulate, and the
clock is running down. Voters need to grab their English Composition
texts. English professors know how to use red herrings. Do voters
know how to get budgets moving?

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About Me

The author leads a quadruple life as a creative writer, journalist, medievalist, and artist. From Western New York, she gained insights into wildlife and spiritualism. In Appalachia, she learned to love America's oldest mountains. She has settled happily, with a tuxedo cat named Chopin and a Basset Hound named Mickey Mantle, in Dunkirk, New York.